J.K.Rowling. Harry Potter and the sorcerer's stone
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... hat was talking to the oldbartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low
buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid;
they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying,
"The usual, Hagrid?"
"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great
hand on Harry's shoulder and making Harry's knees buckle.
"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry, "is this — can this
be --?"
The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.
"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter... what an
honor."
He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his
hand, tears in his eyes.
"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back."
Harry didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at him. The old
woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out.
Hagrid was beaming.
Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry
found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.
"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."
"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."
"Always wanted to shake your hand — I'm all of a flutter."
"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus
Diggle."
"I've seen you before!" said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell
off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop."
"He remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did
you hear that? He remembers me!" Harry shook hands again and again — Doris
Crockford kept coming back for more.
A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes
was twitching.
"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Professor Quirrell will be
one of your teachers at Hogwarts."
"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand,
"c-can't t-tell you how p- pleased I am to meet you."
"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?"
"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as
though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh,
P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment,
I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He
looked terrified at the very thought.
But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself.
It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid
managed to make himself heard over the babble.
"Must get on — lots ter buy. Come on, Harry."
Doris Crockford shook Harry's hand one last time, and Hagrid led them
through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was
nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.
Hagrid grinned at Harry.
"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell
was tremblin' ter meet yeh — mind you, he's usually tremblin'."
"Is he always that nervous?"
"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was
studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand
experience.... They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a
nasty bit o' trouble with a hag — never been the same since. Scared of the
students, scared of his own subject now, where's me umbrella?"
Vampires? Hags? Harry's head was swimming. Hagrid, meanwhile, was
counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.
"Three up... two across he muttered. "Right, stand back, Harry."
He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.
The brick he had touched quivered — it wriggled — in the middle, a
small hole appeared — it grew wider and wider — a second later they were
facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled
street that twisted and turned out of sight.
"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."
He grinned at Harry's amazement. They stepped through the archway.
Harry looked quickly over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly
back into solid wall.
The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest
shop. Cauldrons — All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver --
Self-Stirring — Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.
"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money
first."
Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every
direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at
once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A
plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed,
saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad...."
A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops
Owl Emporium — Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of
about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks
in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand --
fastest ever --" There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes
and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked
with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books,
quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon....
"Gringotts," said Hagrid.
They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other
little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform
of scarlet and gold, was -
"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the
white stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than
Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed,
very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were
facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon
them:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
"Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid.
A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in
a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools
behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass
scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many
doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing
people in and out of these. Hagrid and Harry made for the counter.
"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some
money outta Mr. Harry Potter's safe."
"You have his key, Sir?"
"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his
pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over
the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Harry watched
the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.
"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.
The goblin looked at it closely.
"That seems to be in order."
"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said
Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the YouKnow-What in
vault seven hundred and thirteen."
The goblin read the letter carefully.
"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have Someone
take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"
Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog
biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Harry followed Griphook toward one
of the doors leading off the hall.
"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry
asked.
"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts
business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."
Griphook held the door open for them. Harry, who had expected more
marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with
flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway
tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the
tracks toward them. They climbed in — Hagrid with some difficulty — and
were off.
At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry
tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but
it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because
Griphook wasn't steering.
Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them
wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage
and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late - they plunged
even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and
stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.
I never know," Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart,
"what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"
"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid. "An' don' ask me
questions just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."
He did look very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a
small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the
wall to stop his knees from trembling.
Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out,
and as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns
of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.
"All yours," smiled Hagrid.
All Harry's — it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known
aboutthis or they'd have had it from him faster than blinking. How often had
they complained how much Harry cost them to keep? And all the time there had
been a small fortune belonging to him, buried deep under London.
Hagrid helped Harry pile some of it into a bag.
"The gold ones are Galleons," he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles
to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right,
that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for
yeh." He turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please,
and can we go more slowly?"
"One speed only," said Griphook.
They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became
colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling
over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try to see
what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled him back by
the scruff of his neck.
Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.
"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently
with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.
"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through
the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.
"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked.
"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.
Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security
vault, Harry was sure, and he leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see
fabulous jewels at the very least — but at first he thought it was empty.
Then he noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on
the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Harry
longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask.
"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way
back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.
One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside
Gringotts. Harry didn't know where to run first now that he had a bag full
of money. He didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to
know that he was holding more money than he'd had in his whole life — more
money than even Dudley had ever had.
"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam
Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I
slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts
carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop
alone, feeling nervous.
Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.
"Hogwarts, clear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the
lothere — another young man being fitted up just now, in fact. "
In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing
on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam
Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him) slipped a long robe over his
head, and began to pin it to the right length.
"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"
"Yes," said Harry.
"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street
looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm
going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why first years
can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll
smuggle it in somehow."
Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley.
"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.
"No," said Harry.
"Play Quidditch at all?"
"No," Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.
"I do — Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my
house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"
"No," said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute.
"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know
I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been — imagine being in
Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" "Mmm," said Harry, wishing he
could say something a bit more interesting.
"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the
front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at
two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.
"That's Hagrid," said Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn't.
"He works at Hogwarts."
"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't
he?"
"He's the gamekeeper," said Harry. He was liking the boy less and less
every second.
"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage — lives in a hut on the
school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and
ends up setting fire to his bed."
"I think he's brilliant," said Harry coldly.
"Do you?" said the boy, with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where
are your parents?"
"They're dead," said Harry shortly. He didn't feel much like going into
the matter with this boy.
"Oh, sorry," said the other,. not sounding sorry at all. "But they were
our kind, weren't they?"
"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."
"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you?
They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways.
Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter,
imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's
your surname, anyway?"
But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my
dear," and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped
down from the footstool.
"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.
Harry was rather quiet as he ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought him
(chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).
"What's up?" said Hagrid.
"Nothing," Harry lied. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Harry
cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed color as you
wrote. When they had left the shop, he said, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"
"Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know — not knowin'
about Quidditch!"
"Don't make me feel worse," said Harry. He told Hagrid about the pale
boy in Madam Malkin's.
"--and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed
in."
"Yer not from a Muggle family. If he'd known who yeh were — he's grown
up knowin' yer name if his parents are wizardin' folk. You saw what everyone
in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what does he know
about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em
in a long line 0' Muggles — look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a
sister!"
"So what is Quidditch?"
"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like — like soccer in the Muggle
world — everyone follows Quidditch — played up in the air on broomsticks
and there's four balls — sorta hard ter explain the rules."
"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"
"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o'
duffers, but --"
"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff" said Harry gloomily.
"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a
single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who
was one."
"Vol-, sorry - You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"
"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid.
They bought Harry's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts
where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving
stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk;
books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all.
Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands
on some of these. Hagrid almost had to drag Harry away from Curses and
Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the
Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue- Tying and Much, Much More)
by Professor Vindictus Viridian.
"I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley."
"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in
the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Hagrid. "An'
anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more
study before yeh get ter that level."
Hagrid wouldn't let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It says
pewter on yer list"), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion
ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the
Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell,
a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on
the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls;
bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the
ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some
basic potion ingredients for Harry, Harry himself examined silver unicorn
horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes
(five Knuts a scoop).
Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry's list again.
"Just yer wand left - A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday
present."
Harry felt himself go red.
"You don't have to --"
"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a
toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at - an' I don'
like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls,
they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."
Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been
dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry now
carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her
head under her wing. He couldn't stop stammering his thanks, sounding just
like Professor Quirrell.
"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta
presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now - only place fer
wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."
A magic wand... this was what Harry had been really looking forward to.
The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door
read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a
faded purple cushion in the dusty window.
A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they
stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly
chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had
entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had
just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes
piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck
prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some
secret magic.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped. Hagrid must have
jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off
the spindly chair.
An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like
moons through the gloom of the shop.
"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.
"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon.
Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems
only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a
quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."
Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink.
Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.
"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven
inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration.
Well, I say your father favored it — it's really the wand that chooses the
wizard, of course."
Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to
nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.
"And that's where..."
Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a
long, white finger.
"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly.
"Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in
the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the
world to do...."
He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted Hagrid.
"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again.... Oak, sixteen
inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"
"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.
"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you
got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.
"Er — yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've
stillgot the pieces, though," he added brightly.
"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.
"Oh, no, sit," said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink
umbrella very tightly as he spoke.
"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now
— Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver
markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"
"Er — well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.
"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to
finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his
head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a
powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail
feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the
same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And
of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."
Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring
between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting
around the shelves, taking down boxes.
"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on
the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon
heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a
wave."
Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but
Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.
"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try --"
Harry tried — but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was
snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.
"No, no -here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches,
springy. Go on, go on, try it out."
Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting
for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly
chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the
happier he seemed to become.
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here
somewhere — I wonder, now - - yes, why not — unusual combination — holly
and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised
the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and
a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing
dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr.
Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well,
well... how curious... how very curious... "
He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper,
still muttering, "Curious... curious..
"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"
Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand.
It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave
another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should
be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave you that
scar."
Harry swallowed.
"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things
happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember.... I think we must expect
great things from you, Mr. Potter.... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named
did great things — terrible, yes, but great."
Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr. Ollivander too much. He
paid seven gold Galleons for his wand, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from
his shop.
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry and Hagrid made
their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the
Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Harry didn't speak at all as they walked down the
road; he didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the
Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with
the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Harry's lap. Up another escalator, out
into Paddington station; Harry only realized where they were when Hagrid
tapped him on the shoulder.
"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said.
He bought Harry a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat
them. Harry kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow.
"You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid.
Harry wasn't sure he could explain. He'd just had the best birthday of
his life — and yet — he chewed his hamburger, trying to find the words.
"Everyone thinks I'm special," he said at last. "All those people in
the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander... but I don't know
anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I'm famous
and I can't even remember what I'm famous for. I don't know what happened
when Vol-, sorry — I mean, the night my parents died."
Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he
wore a very kind smile.
"Don' you worry, Harry. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at
the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. just be yerself. I know it's
hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a
great time at Hogwarts — I did — still do, 'smatter of fact."
Hagrid helped Harry on to the train that would take him back to the
Dursleys, then handed him an envelope.
"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts, " he said. "First o' September — King's
Cross — it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a
letter with yer owl, she'll know where to find me.... See yeh soon, Harry."
The train pulled out of the station. Harry wanted to watch Hagrid until
he was out of sight; he rose in his seat and pressed his nose against the
window, but he blinked and Hagrid had gone.
CHAPTER SIX
THE JOURNEY FROM PLATFORM NINE AND THREE-QUARTERS
Harry's last month with the Dursleys wasn't fun. True, Dudley was now
so scared of Harry he wouldn't stay in the same room, while Aunt Petunia and
Uncle Vernon didn't shut Harry in his cupboard, force him to do anything, or
shout at him — in fact, they didn't speak to him at all. Half terrified,
half furious, they acted as though any chair with Harry in it were empty.
Although this was an improvement in many ways, it did become a bit
depressing after a while.
Harry kept to his room, with his new owl for company. He had decided to
call her Hedwig, a name he had found in A History of Magic. His school books
were very interesting. He lay on his bed reading late into the night, Hedwig
swooping in and out of the open window as she pleased. It was lucky that
Aunt Petunia didn't come in to vacuum anymore, because Hedwig kept bringing
back dead mice. Every night before he went to sleep, Harry ticked off
another day on the piece of paper he had pinned to the wall, counting down
to September the first.
On the last day of August he thought he'd better speak to his aunt and
uncle about getting to King's Cross station the next day, so he went down to
the living room where they were watching a quiz show on television. He
cleared his throat to let them know he was there, and Dudley screamed and
ran from the room.
"Er — Uncle Vernon?"
Uncle Vernon grunted to show he was listening.
"Er — I need to be at King's Cross tomorrow to — to go to Hogwarts."
Uncle Vernon grunted again.
"Would it be all right if you gave me a lift?"
Grunt. Harry supposed that meant yes.
"Thank you."
He was about to go back upstairs when Uncle Vernon actually spoke.
"Funny way to get to a wizards' school, the train. Magic carpets all
got punctures, have they?"
Harry didn't say anything.
"Where is this school, anyway?"
"I don't know," said Harry, realizing this for the first time. He
pulled the ticket Hagrid had given him out of his pocket.
"I just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven
o'clock," he read.
His aunt and uncle stared.
"Platform what?"
"Nine and three-quarters."
"Don't talk rubbish," said Uncle Vernon. "There is no platform nine and
three-quarters."
"It's on my ticket."
"Barking," said Uncle Vernon, "howling mad, the lot of them. You'll
see. You just wait. All right, we'll take you to King's Cross. We're going
up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn't bother."
"Why are you going to London?" Harry asked, trying to keep things
friendly.
"Taking Dudley to the hospital," growled Uncle Vernon. "Got to have
that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings."
Harry woke at five o'clock the next morning and was too excited and
nervous to go back to sleep. He got up and pulled on his jeans because he
didn't want to walk into the station in his wizard's robes — he'd change on
the train. He checked his Hogwarts list yet again to make sure he had
everything he needed, saw that Hedwig was shut safely in her cage, and then
paced the room, waiting for the Dursleys to get up. Two hours later, Harry's
huge, heavy trunk had been loaded into the Dursleys' car, Aunt Petunia had
talked Dudley into sitting next to Harry, and they had set off.
They reached King's Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Harry's
trunk onto a cart and wheeled it into the station for him. Harry thought
this was strangely kind until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the
platforms with a nasty grin on his face.
"Well, there you are, boy. Platform nine — platform ten. Your platform
should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet,
do they?"
He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over
one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in
the middle, nothing at all.
"Have a good term," said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile. He
left without another word. Harry turned and saw the Dursleys drive away. All
three of them were laughing. Harry's mouth went rather dry. What on earth
was he going to do? He was starting to attract a lot of funny looks, because
of Hedwig. He'd have to ask someone.
He stopped a passing guard, but didn't dare mention platform nine and
three-quarters. The guard had never heard of Hogwarts and when Harry
couldn't even tell him what part of the country it was in, he started to get
annoyed, as though Harry was being stupid on purpose. Getting desperate,
Harry asked for the train that left at eleven o'clock, but the guard said
there wasn't one. In the end the guard strode away, muttering about time
wasters. Harry was now trying hard not to panic. According to the large
clock over the arrivals board, he had ten minutes left to get on the train
to Hogwarts and he had no idea how to do it; he was stranded in the middle
of a station with a trunk he could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizard
money, and a large owl.
Hagrid must have forgotten to tell him something you had to do, like
tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. He wondered if
he should get out his wand and start tapping the ticket inspector's stand
between platforms nine and ten.
At that moment a group of people passed just behind him and he caught a
few words of what they were saying.
"-- packed with Muggles, of course --"
Harry swung round. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to
four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like
Harry's in front of him — and they had an owl.
Heart hammering, Harry pushed his cart after them. They stopped and so
did he, just near enough to hear what they were saying.
"Now, what's the platform number?" said the boys' mother.
"Nine and three-quarters!" piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was
holding her hand, "Mom, can't I go... "
"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go
first."
What looked like the oldest boy marched toward platforms nine and ten.
Harry watched, careful not to blink in case he missed it — but just as the
boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of
tourists came swarming in front of him and by the time the last backpack had
cleared away, the boy had vanished.
"Fred, you next," the plump woman said.
"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. "Honestly, woman, you call
yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"
"Sorry, George, dear."
"Only joking, I am Fred," said the boy, and off he went. His twin
called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second
later, he had gone — but how had he done it?
Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier he was
almost there — and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere.
There was nothing else for it.
"Excuse me," Harry said to the plump woman.
"Hello, dear," she said. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too."
She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin,
and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.
"Yes," said Harry. "The thing is — the thing is, I don't know how to
--"
"How to get onto the platform?" she said kindly, and Harry nodded.
"Not to worry," she said. "All you have to do is walk straight at the
barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared
you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if
you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."
"Er — okay," said Harry.
He pushed his trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very
solid.
He started to walk toward it. People jostled him on their way to
platforms nine and ten. Harry walked more quickly. He was going to smash
right into that barrier and then he'd be in trouble — leaning forward on
his cart, he broke into a heavy run — the barrier was coming nearer and
nearer — he wouldn't be able to stop — the cart was out of control — he
was a foot away — he closed his eyes ready for the crash --
It didn't come... he kept on running... he opened his eyes. A scarlet
steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign
overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven O'clock. Harry looked behind him and
saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it, He had done it.
Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd,
while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls
hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the
scraping of heavy trunks.
The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging
out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry
pushed his cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat. He passed
a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."
"Oh, Neville," he heard the old woman sigh.
A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd. "Give us a look,
Lee, go on."
The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him
shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.
Harry pressed on through the crowd until he found an empty compartment
near the end of the train. He put Hedwig inside first and then started to
shove and heave his trunk toward the train door. He tried to lift it up the
steps but could hardly raise one end and twice he dropped it painfully on
his foot.
"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-haired twins he'd followed through
the barrier.
"Yes, please," Harry panted.
"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!"
With the twins' help, Harry's trunk was at last tucked away in a corner
of the compartment.
"Thanks," said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.
"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harry's
lightning scar.
"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you
"He is," said the first twin. "Aren't you?" he added to Harry.
"What?" said Harry.
"Harry Potter, "chorused the twins.
"Oh, him," said Harry. "I mean, yes, I am."
The two boys gawked at him, and Harry felt himself turning red. Then,
to his relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door.
"Fred? George? Are you there?"
"Coming, Mom."
With a last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train.
Harry sat down next to the window where, half hidden, he could watch
the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their
mother had just taken out her handkerchief.
"Ron, you've got something on your nose."
The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and
began rubbing the end of his nose.
"Mom — geroff" He wriggled free.
"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" said one of the
twins.
"Shut up," said Ron.
"Where's Percy?" said their mother.
"He's coming now."
The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into
his billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Harry noticed a shiny silver badge
on his chest with the letter P on it.
"Can't stay long, Mother," he said. "I'm up front, the prefects have
got two compartments to themselves --"
"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?" said one of the twins, with an air of
great surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea."
"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the
other twin. "Once --"
"Or twice --"
"A minute --"
"All summer --"
"Oh, shut up," said Percy the Prefect.
"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" said one of the twins.
"Because he's a prefect," said their mother fondly. "All right, dear,
well, have a good term — send me an owl when you get there."
She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the
twins.
"Now, you two — this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more
owl telling me you've — you've blown up a toilet or --"
"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."
"Great idea though, thanks, Mom."
"It's not funny. And look after Ron."
"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."
"Shut up," said Ron again. He was almost as tall as the twins already
and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it.
"Hey, Mom, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?"
Harry leaned back quickly so they couldn't see him looking.
"You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know
who he is?"
"Who?"
"Harry Potter!"
Harry heard the little girl's voice.
"Oh, Mom, can I go on the train and see him, Mom, eh please...."
"You've already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn't something you
goggle at in a zoo. Is he really, Fred? How do you know?"
"Asked him. Saw his scar. It's really there - like lightning."
"Poor dear - no wonder he was alone, I wondered. He was ever so polite
when he asked how to get onto the platform."
"Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks
like?"
Their mother suddenly became very stern.
"I forbid you to ask him, Fred. No, don't you dare. As though he needs
reminding of that on his first day at school."
"All right, keep your hair on."
A whistle sounded.
"Hurry up!" their mother said, and the three boys clambered onto the
train. They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and
their younger sister began to cry.
"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls."
"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat."
"George!"
"Only joking, Mom."
The train began to move. Harry saw the boys' mother waving and their
sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until
it gathered too much speed, then she fell back and waved.
Harry watched the girl and her mother disappear as the train rounded
the corner. Houses flashed past the window. Harry felt a great leap of
excitement. He didn't know what he was going to but it had to be better than
what he was leaving behind.
The door of the compartment slid open and the youngest redheaded boy
came in.
"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harry.
"Everywhere else is full."
Harry shook his head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and then
looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. Harry saw he
still had a black mark on his nose.
"Hey, Ron."
The twins were back.
"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train — Lee Jordan's got a
giant tarantula down there."
"Right," mumbled Ron.
"Harry," said the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and
George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then.
"Bye," said Harry and Ron. The twins slid the compartment door shut
behind them.
"Are you really Harry Potter?" Ron blurted out.
Harry nodded.
"Oh -well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," said
Ron. "And have you really got — you know..."
He pointed at Harry's forehead.
Harry pulled back his bangs to show the lightning scar. Ron stared.
"So that's where You-Know-Who
"Yes," said Harry, "but I can't remember it."
"Nothing?" said Ron eagerly.
"Well — I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."
"Wow," said Ron. He sat and stared at Harry for a few moments, then, as
though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of
the window again.
"Are all your family wizards?" asked Harry, who found Ron just as
interesting as Ron found him.
"Er — Yes, I think so," said Ron. "I think Mom's got a second cousin
who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."
"So you must know loads of magic already."
The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families the pale
boy in Diagon Alley had talked about.
"I heard you went to live with Muggles," said Ron. "What are they
like?"
"Horrible -well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are,
though. Wish I'd had three wizard brothers."
"Five," said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy. "I'm the
sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live
up to. Bill and Charlie have already left — Bill was head boy and Charlie
was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around
a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're
really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do,
it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new,
either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand,
and Percy's old rat."
Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was
asleep.
"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy
got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff — I
mean, I got Scabbers instead."
Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because he
went back to staring out of the window.
Harry didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to
afford an owl. After all, he'd never had any money in his life until a month
ago, and he told Ron so, all about having to wear Dudley's old clothes and
never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer Ron up.
"... and until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about being a
wizard or about my parents or Voldemort"
Ron gasped.
"What?" said Harry.
"You said You-Know-Who's name!" said Ron, sounding both shocked and
impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people --"
"I'm not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name," said Harry,
I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to
learn.... I bet," he added, voicing for the first time something that had
been worrying him a lot lately, "I bet I'm the worst in the class."
"You won't be. There's loads of people who come from Muggle families
and they learn quick enough."
While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London.
Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet
for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past.
Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the
corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said,
"Anything off the cart, dears?"
Harry, who hadn't had any breakfast, leapt to his feet, but Ron's ears
went pink again and he muttered that he'd brought sandwiches. Harry went out
into the corridor.
He had never had any money for candy with the Dursleys, and now that he
had pockets rattling with gold and silver he was ready to buy as many Mars
Bars as he could carry — but the woman didn't have Mars Bars. What she did
have were Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum,
Chocolate Frogs. Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a
number of other strange things Harry had never seen in his life. Not wanting
to miss anything, he got some of everything and paid the woman eleven silver
Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.
Ron stared as Harry brought it all back in to the compartment and
tipped it onto an empty seat.
"Hungry, are you?"
"Starving," said Harry, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty.
Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four
sandwiches inside. He pulled one of them apart and said, "She always forgets
I don't like corned beef."
"Swap you for one of these," said Harry, holding up a pasty. "Go on --"
"You don't want this, it's all dry," said Ron. "She hasn't got much
time," he added quickly, "you know, with five of us."
"Go on, have a pasty," said Harry, who had never had anything to share
before or, indeed, anyone to share it with. It was a nice feeling, sitting
there with Ron, eating their way through all Harry's pasties, cakes, and
candies (the sandwiches lay forgotten).
"What are these?" Harry asked Ron, holding up a pack of Chocolate
Frogs. "They're not really frogs, are they?" He was starting to feel that
nothing would surprise him.
"No," said Ron. "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa."
"What?"
"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know — Chocolate Frogs have cards, inside
them, you know, to collect — famous witches and wizards. I've got about
five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy."
Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a
man's face. He wore half- moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and
flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture was the
name Albus Dumbledore.
"So this is Dumbledore!" said Harry.
"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" said Ron. "Can I have
a frog? I might get Agrippa — thanks
Harry turned over his card and read:
ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS
Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is
partic...
